A Fear Filled Mind
by Launa Alvara
Summary: Martin is keeping a secret... Or at least trying to.
1. Douglas

Written for this prompt on the Cabin Pressure Meme:

_'Martin suffers from OCD which he usually has under control. He keeps it quiet because he's heard too often that it's not really a proper illness, [that] he's just being fussy. Then something bad happens to him (St. Petersburg, family news, anything) and he has a relapse. He tries to keep it quiet, especially from Douglas, because he fears that he will just mock him even more from now on._  
_But you can't keep many things from Douglas, and anyway it's hard not to notice that Martin is now double-checking his triple-checks.'_

(This is a revised and expanded version from my original post).

Disclaimer: I'm not remotely an expert on OCD, so deep apologies if anything is glaringly or insultingly wrong. I did research as best I could and I understand that it's a very personal condition (i.e. different for everyone) so hopefully I'm not completely off the mark.

* * *

In hindsight, Douglas should have realised on that flight home from St Petersburg.

He had watched Martin do the walk-around not one, or twice, but three times that evening.

He had observed with amusement as Martin circled GERTI, inspecting every piece of engineering on the old-girl methodically and muttering to himself, as if making a mental checklist. Douglas then watched him repeat the process twice more, stopping Martin mid flow on the third circuit to ask him if he was _'getting dizzy yet?'_. A frown had passed over the young man's face, as if Douglas had interrupted some important mental calculation, and he'd set off again with Douglas calling after him to tease.

_ "Watch that inner ear of yours, Captain, don't want you passing out again, do we?"._

At the time, Douglas had put Martin's peculiar caution and triple checking down to the fact that the young Captain had, a few hours earlier, landed GERTI on one engine after a bird-strike. No mean feat for an experienced confident pilot, never mind one as self doubting as Martin could be at times. If he was a bit jumpy and over vigilant on the flight home, well, that was only to be expected, wasn't it? Douglas had dismissed it merely as post 'near miss' anxiety mixed in with Martin's normal fusspot personality. A bit of slack was needed, alongside a healthy dose of teasing, just to get things back to normal as quickly as possible.

Except things hadn't gone back to normal in the way Douglas had planned.

Granted, the banter in the cockpit remained the same as ever. Martin lost nearly every game Douglas could come up with. Arthur continued to make terrible meals, and passable tea, whilst being extra cheerful. And Carolyn continued to berate them for losing her money.

It was the reason they were losing money that was becoming a sticking point.

Martin's pre-flight checks were starting to become ludicrous.

While it was true he had always erred more on the side of caution than Douglas, before the landing in St Petersburg he _had_ began to relax his stringent procedures enough for a little wriggle room. He was even performing walk rounds in under an hour, and skipping one or two of the less important checks. But for the last month Martin not only insisted on doing everything _exactly_ by the book, he'd then checked and rechecked and checked again for good measure. It had got to a point where Martin had even started to check the checks Douglas had already done as part of _his_ job.

Martin would do the walk-round twice before every flight, regardless of how little time they had before their take off slot. He'd insist on pouring over the flight checklist as if his life depended on it, placing two little ticks in every box.

Carolyn had lost her temper more than once over the unnecessary delays caused by Martin's increasingly obsessive behaviour. But as Douglas had watched him argue back about how important safety checks were, it was still the same old Martin he could see before him.

It was only when Martin started to test the radio four times before every flight that Douglas finally snapped. They were already 40 minutes behind schedule, and Martin had already felt the need to go through the entire weather, out loud, twice. As Martin reached for the radio test button again Douglas bit.

"For God's sake, Martin!" Douglas barked, a little more angrily than he'd intended. "The radio is _fine_."

Martin stilled his hand as if someone had placed him on pause. For a moment silence descended over the cockpit as Douglas studied the young man's face. He seemed utterly torn between taking his hand back, or continuing with his intended task. Douglas could virtually see the turmoil boiling within.

After another moment he seemed to have made his decision, as he reached forward to close the inch between his finger and the radio-check button. His expression changed and he defiantly stuck his chin out. "You can never be too careful. If we had a radio failure at 33,000ft, it could be disastrous."

"We have back-ups for that. And back-ups for the back-ups, come to that." Douglas explained exasperated.

"Yes...right." Martin hesitated. "We should check those too."

Douglas rolled his eyes, before looking back towards his Captain. "They're fine. They were checked last week."

Martin seemed to bite nervously on his lower lip. "Yes..._but_..."

"But nothing!" Douglas spoke loudly again his patience beginning to wear thin. Martin flinched at his anger and Douglas immediately calmed himself down, speaking quietly. "What on _earth_ has gotten into you lately?"

"W-w-what do you mean?" Martin eyed him nervously, fiddling with his jacket sleeve.

"I mean..." Douglas tried to spell it out for him. "...You've always had a somewhat unhealthily obsessive relationship with the rule book, Martin, but just lately you're beginning to make the you-of-three-years-ago look like some kind of rule bending chancer."

Martin bristled at the accusation, regaining some sort of composure. "Just because _you_ don't take safety seriously, doesn't mean we're all so dismissive of it. _Someone_ has to take some responsibility." He shot back.

"Yes..." Douglas agreed. "...and I am _more_ than happy for that _someone_ to be you. But you appear to be taking safety checks to the very limits of human endurance."

"I-I-I..." Martin stuttered, seemingly fighting for the words and beginning to turn a little red.

Douglas took pity on him. "All I'm saying, Martin, is that perhaps you can relax a bit? You know? The way you were..._before_." He didn't elaborate on before what, hoping that Martin got the gist. "You were still pretty much a poster boy for the rule book, as I recall, but it seemed much less..." he paused searching for the right word. "...irritating."

Martin seemed to visibly deflate in front of him. His shoulders sagging and his head hanging low. "I'm trying." He muttered half under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" Douglas asked him, knowing full well what he'd said, but not quite understanding what he'd meant.

Martin brought his head up again, to look out the front window. "I said, I'm _trying_."

"Yes." Douglas agreed. "You are _very_ trying. Glad we're finally on the same page."

Martin huffed a laugh at that, which Douglas was glad to both see and hear. He still wasn't sure what Martin had meant though.

_He's trying. Trying what?_

There was a pause in the conversation again.

Douglas questioned how to go about getting to the crux of the problem. Eventually he settled on a direct question. "Martin, is this about what happened in St Petersburg?"

Martin sighed and leant back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Yes..._and no_." He stated simply.

"Yes _and_ no?" Douglas echoed. "Well, aren't you just the riddler today?"

Martin gave him a look and he was suddenly sorry for quipping. There was clearly something weighing heavily on his Captain's mind and although Douglas feigned not to care most of the time, the opposite was nearly always true.

"Shall we start with the _yes_?" He encouraged Martin, trying his best to look earnest.

Martin seemed to hesitate, looking for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else, talking about _anything_ else. Eventually he spoke up. "Yes...St Petersburg caused it, I suppose..." He hesitated again. "...but no...it isn't the actual reason."

Douglas raised his eyebrows a little. "I see. So, let me just recap, for my own benefit..." He paused. "St Petersburg is both the cause, yet not the cause? You'll have to excuse me, Martin, but I'm afraid you've lost me somewhat. Do you care to clarify?"

Martin seemed to fidget in his seat, before trying to speak. "I...it's...I..." He paused before trying again. "T-t-there...you see...it..."

"Yes, perhaps start with whole sentences. It just seems to make the whole process easier." Douglas was trying his best, but running a little low on tolerance.

Martin sighed deeply "Oh what's the point. You'll figure it out anyway, that's if you haven't already." He paused, screwing his eyes shut tightly before blurting out. "I have OCD. Ok?"

Silence filled the cockpit.

_Oh_.

_Oh, Douglas you idiot_.

Douglas cursed himself as he continued to stare at Martin, unable to tear his gaze aware from the very small, vulnerable looking man sitting opposite with his eyes squeezed shut.

_Of course_ he had OCD.

It made such utterly perfect sense.

How on earth had Douglas not realised sooner? How could a man as clever as him not have made _that _connection? He should have noticed. It was as clear as day. Obvious as a very...obvious thing.

_You're losing your touch, Dougie boy. _

The way Martin would obsessively straighten his hat. The way he constantly inspected or tugged at his seatbelt. The way he would regularly run a finger over the stripes on his uniform sleeve, reciting something under his breath. Perhaps if it was anyone else it could have been written off as a simple comforting or nervous gesture, but it was clear now that something more ominous was going on inside Martin's head.

And he hadn't seen it.

Martin finally opened his eyes. He held Douglas glaze, but his face had turned rather rosy in embarrassment. Eventually he spoke with a small tentative. "_Douglas_?"

Douglas realised far too late that he hadn't spoken since Martin's admission. "I see." He said slowly, lost for anything else to say.

Martin looked like he was about to say something in reply, but instead clamped his mouth shut and turned to stare resolutely out of the window, his jaw working tensely.

For the first time in his life, Douglas was lost for words. He knew he needed to say something and fast, as he could almost feel Martin's anxiety over what, Douglas knew, was a very personal admission and one that Martin wouldn't have made willingly.

"I take it St Petersburg made it worse?" He found himself saying, for want of anything better to start a conversation.

Martin nodded a little tersely, still staring out of the window. He stayed silent for a moment and Douglas feared he was going to have to find another way to prise him open. But eventually he did speak. "I thought I had it under control."

"I rather think you did." Douglas encouraged. "At least...you certainly fooled me." He paused for effect. "And that's not an admission I make too easily, as well you know."

Martin's gaze dropped to the instrument panel in front of him. "Great. I finally get one over on Douglas Richardson, and it's just because I managed to hide being a bit...weird."

There was humour in his words, rather than self pity, and Douglas decided it was a button that could be pushed. "Come now, Martin. You've _never_ managed to hide _that_."

Martin laughed finally and Douglas allowed himself to chuckle along with him, glad that the tension had been slightly relieved.

When the laughter died away, Martin finally looked over at him. "You're not...you're not going to taunt me about it?"

Douglas gave him his best 'serious' face. Was Martin really asking that? Well of course he was. There wasn't much that Douglas didn't take great pleasure in teasing him about. This was different.

"_Taunt_?" Douglas made the word sound distasteful. "I would hope you know me better than that."

"You taunt me about everything else." Martin stated matter-of-factly.

"Tease, Martin. Not Taunt. And this isn't quite the same, is it?"

"I don't see why not." Martin asserted. "Most people don't even think it's a real thing."

Douglas may not have finished medical school, but he still recalled some of the lectures and a short rotation with the psychiatric team. He knew only too well that obsessive compulsive disorder was, indeed, a _real thing_. Just as real as any other disease or condition. Taunting Martin about having OCD would be like taunting someone for having cancer, or for having their right leg amputated. He could no more help _his_ condition, than a cancer patient or amputee could help theirs. There were some lines Douglas just wouldn't cross and this was one of them.

"You may have noticed, Sir, that I am not _most_ people." He tried sounding offended.

He watched the tension visibly drain from Martin's body at his words and knew that now was the time to dig a little deeper.

"I assume that's been a problem in the past?"

"What has?" Martin looked at him blankly.

"Taunting, mockery, ridicule...whichever unpleasant term you'd care to call it?" Douglas clarified.

"Oh." Martin looked thoughtful for a moment. "N-n-not...not really."

Douglas was about to nudge him further when Martin started speaking again of his own violation.

"There was no..._ridicule_ exactly. It might have been easier if there had of been. Just..." He drifted off for a moment before continuing. "It was the job I had before this one." He explained. "I couldn't hide my..._condition_... as well as...well...I was _before_. I hadn't learnt _how _to." He gestured idly with his hands. "And...well...let's just say it didn't make me a very popular choice of co-pilot." He paused again, seemingly remembering. For a moment Douglas thought he had finished speaking altogether. "I ended up spending most of my time on stand-by, only getting to fly if there was _really _no one else available. In the end...I...I left." He finished finally.

Douglas could just imagine the scene. A younger, even more nervous, Martin made ten times worse by the pressure of a job he wasn't yet comfortable in and the unyielding gaze of a Captain with little sympathy for the situation, or they way he was. It made him wince just thinking about it. God knows what they would have said about him behind his back. Douglas knew how these places worked and had no doubt that Martin would likely have had some unpleasant nickname. 'Mental Martin' or 'Crazy Crieff' were two that came to mind. Add to that Martin's unfortunate habit of stuttering and inability to talk to people (though he had to wonder if the one condition precipitated the other?) and it would have been a recipe for misery. He was glad that Martin seemed to have escaped fairly lightly.

"I can understand you not being _popular_..." Douglas teased; glad to have something familiar to fall back on in this conversation. "...but I can think of plenty of reasons other than that _particular_ one."

Martin made his familiar 'ha ha' face at him. A welcome relief, if Douglas was honest.

"I just meant that you shouldn't have been _grounded_ for that reason." Douglas clarified.

Martin sighed before exclaiming. "No one wants to fly with a pilot who double checks his triple checks!"

Douglas tried to resist the urge to laugh but failed miserably, happy when Martin starting laughing too.

As their laughter died down, Douglas spoke again. "But you got it under control."

He hadn't meant it as a question, just a friendly reminder.

Martin nodded. "I had. Until now."


	2. Martin

In a weird way, Martin was feeling a bit cheated by Douglas' reaction.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. He'd assumed there would be mockery and laughter of some kind, probably telling him he didn't need an excuse to be any more fussy than he already was.

He wouldn't even have been surprised if Douglas had refused to fly with him again; much like his former colleagues. He certainly hadn't counted on any kind of understanding. Not from Douglas, of all people.

Martin had known that someone was going to find out sooner, rather than later. The compulsions were getting harder and harder to keep a handle on, the stress of impending discovery making the situation _that_ much worse. He had tried, _really_ tried to get things back under control, but no matter how hard he struggled he just couldn't fight the anxieties or impulses. The more he worried about the others finding out, the worse the fears and compulsions got. It was a vicious circle.

He wished he could explain it to people properly, but whenever he'd tried it had always ended up sounding utterly ridiculous. Those people he had told, his sibling among them, had brushed it aside with sweeping statements about how he was just being fussy or uptight. They hadn't a remote understanding about the fear and anxieties that plagued his mind and the coping mechanisms that made him feel better.

Of course he knew that most of his fears were completely irrational, the vast majority downright ludicrous. He was a sensible man, how could he possibly believe that unless he checked the fuel pump eight times, the left engine would explode in a fireball. It was an utterly ridiculous notion. And yet, if he didn't complete the ritual exactly right, the anxiety would threaten to well up and swallow him whole. There was no way of explaining that to anyone with, not without sounding like an utter madman.

The other effects were much more mundane, making him a little obsessive over rules and safety, or making him anxious over a mess. It was the same compulsions that made him arrange his flight manuals in alphabetical order and straighten the coaster on his bedside table so it sat at 90 degrees.

Those little things he could live with, after all, no one knew about them but him. But it didn't stop at them.

Martin had managed to get the worst of it under control by sheer force of will by the time he started work for MJN. He'd shunned the offer of a therapist from his GP, choosing instead to do it the hard way by himself. His case wasn't bad enough to need medication or anything more drastic, and for that he was entirely grateful. Medication would likely put a stop to his flying career completely and without that, Martin would be absolutely lost.

The sweet irony was that when he was in the air, whilst he was actually flying, all those fears and anxieties were quietened and he finally felt in control of them. It was as if he left them on the ground as the plane took off, like a weight lifted from his shoulders. It was an amazing release and something Martin looked forward to, knowing that for a few hours or more, he could feel like a normal human being.

The bird strike in Russia had managed to knock that safe place off its axis.

Martin knew he'd done a pretty stand-up job with that landing, given the circumstances, and for a few hours he'd walked around firstly in a daze, and latterly on a kind of survivors high. It wasn't even the first time something has gone wrong in the air, but it was the first time he'd realised he could actually die. As the fears started gnawing on his subconscious he'd fooled himself that he'd get a handle again quickly enough and that the flight back to Fitton was just a side effect of the emergency landing. But the anxieties were insidiously working their way back into his life again, worse than ever.

"And you'll get it in control again."

Douglas voice brought him out of his reverie.

"It's...it's not that _easy_, Douglas." He admitted quietly, though he had to love the confidence his First Officer seemed to have in him.

"I have no doubt of that." Douglas replied nonchalantly. "But are you telling me the great Captain Crieff, he of six CPL attempts, is going to give up now? And he's me thinking you had more perseverance than that."

Martin couldn't help but fell a puff of pride at Douglas words. He _was_ a fighter. He always had been. But then the practicalities made themselves unwelcome in his mind.

"But I can't do it overnight...and...and.. I think Carolyn is running out of patience with me."

"That I can't deny, Martin." Douglas paused. "Which is perhaps why it's time to tell her."

"Tell _Carolyn_?!" Martin almost choked on the words at the thought of it. "She'd...she'd fire me on the spot."

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised. Our hallowed leader talks a big game, but I hardly think she's likely to fire you for that. In fact, she's more likely to fire you if you don't tell her. At least you'd have a reason for wasting her money. Besides where is likely to find another Captain willing to work for free?"

Martin sighed, knowing that Douglas had a point, but dreading the thought of admitting such a thing to Carolyn, of all people.

"And Arthur too." Douglas stated.

"A-A-Arthur...?" Martin replied unsurely. "I'm not sure how I'd explain it to Arthur."

"I wouldn't worry. He'll probably think it's _brilliant_ however you explain it"

Martin had to laugh at that, glad when Douglas laughed alongside him.

When the laughter had subsided, Martin snuck a look towards his First Officer. "You really think they'd be ok about it?"

Douglas held his gaze for a moment before answering. "Martin, this is one area in which I don't proclaim to be an expert, so I fear you are going to have to guide me. But, I'm _fairly _sure that I'm right in saying it will go much easier if we all know, will it not?"

Martin couldn't deny that in the slightest. The fear of being 'found out' had kept him from getting a decent nights sleep for weeks now.

"Y-y-yes. It would definitely help." He stammered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with his First Officer's generosity.

"Well, then. It's a no-brainer, wouldn't you say? You know Arthur will be fine. He's a one man Martin Crieff fan-club. I dare say if he found out you spent your spare time dancing to Abba or collecting beer mats, he'd still think you were _brilliant. _As for Carolyn, I'm fairly certain there will be teasing and possibly a straight jacket to stop you carrying out five walk rounds before take-off, but I think you might _just_ be surprised."

Martin nodded, looking thoughtfully out of the window with a smile growing on his lips. After a moment he asked Douglas unsurely. "A-a-and...and what about you?" He turned to look at Douglas again.

"What about me?" Douglas looked at him earnestly.

"You don't mind...you know...flying with me?"

"Martin, I _always_ mind flying with you. But I really don't see how this makes you any more irksome than previously."

And anyway..." Douglas continued, stretching in his seat. "...I haven't the energy to break in a new co-pilot anymore, so helping you is entirely in self-interest, I assure you."

* * *

_Huge thanks to the Anon responsible for such an intriguing prompt._

_This hasn't been Beta'd - so any mistakes are entirely my own (sorry about that)._

_Any feedback, comments, suggestions, criticisms gratefully received!_


End file.
